


Dealing with the Devil

by hotchoco195



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Experiments in science and psychology, F/M, Identity, Life changing moments, Oblivious Jim, Poison, Sherlock is an arse, Soulmates, molliarty - Freeform, very Dark!Molly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-08 23:42:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotchoco195/pseuds/hotchoco195
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly's had enough. She's in love with a guy who doesn't even say thank you, with no social life to speak of and a general existential crisis. But she happens to know a really good consultant who's got experience in helping people disappear...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dealing with the Devil

 

Sherlock finished measuring the corpse’s nostrils, threw down the callipers and stripped off his gloves.

“Let me know when the toxicology gets back on him, would you?”

“Sure,” Molly smiled brightly despite the hour, “Say, uh, did you want to get something to eat?”

Sherlock snapped his fingers. “Excellent idea. John, how do you feel about Thai?”

John wrinkled his nose. “Not really my thing. Indian?”

“Possible.”

They strolled towards the exit, Sherlock’s hands clasped behind his back as he thought.

“Chinese?”

“We always get Chinese.”

“Well if you hadn’t alienated every other takeout joint near the flat-”

The doors swinging shut cut off the rest of John’s sentence, leaving a crestfallen Molly to watch the space where they’d been.

“Oh no, don’t mind me. I wasn’t saying I was hungry.” she moaned softly, tidying up after Sherlock.

He somehow always managed to trash her equipment table – though Molly wasn’t sure why she was surprised. She’d seen the flat at Baker Street.

“For someone with an orderly mind, he certainly can’t keep anything else tidy.” She told the naked man with bludgeoned-in ribs in front of her.

Molly wheeled him back over to his drawer and slid the body in, closing everything up. Maybe she’d stop by the cafeteria while the tox screen was running. Maybe there’d be some new cute doctor there – and then what would Sherlock say? _Nothing. He wouldn’t even notice_. Shaking her head at her own patheticness Molly gathered up the samples and headed for her lab.

*****

Molly was sick of it – all of it. As she dragged herself home she cursed Sherlock for being ungrateful and mean, and herself for expecting anything different. _When are you going to learn, Molly? Sherlock Holmes will never be interested in you. Fawning over him only makes it easier for him to crush you_. She unlocked her door and dropped her bag on the side table, a soft miaow greeting her.

“Hey Toby. How was your day?” she bent to cuddle the tiny kitten.

He wriggled against her chest happily, demanding to be petted.

“You love me, don’t you? You don’t run off with someone else once you’ve got what you wanted from me.”

She went into her room and sank down on the bed without even taking her shoes off. It would irritate her eventually, but for now she was just too tired to do anything but lay there and pity herself. _How long have I been this much of a wimp? Never standing up for myself, never fighting for what I want. My work is something that freaks most people out yet it’s the one thing I’m_ not _frightened of._ With every passing minute Molly started to hate herself more and more. She’d been a good child, and a good student, and a good person her whole life, and where had it gotten her? An empty cheap flat and a cat that would eat her face if she died in it. Well she’d had enough of that – Molly was going to be selfish for once.

 

Fired up with her new idea, Molly quickly changed out of her work clothes and into something comfy. She took a pen and paper and sat down to think about how she was going to change her life and start over. _Can’t stay as I am, obviously. I want a new place and I can’t afford that on a St Bart’s salary – not to mention always having Sherlock around being awful_. Some tiny part of her knew one harsh look from him would crumple her resolve. She wrote down ‘new job’ and ‘new flat’ _.  New friends too – maybe I should join a club or something?_ Molly added ‘get a hobby’. She wrote until she’d filled the whole page and when she finished she sat back with a smile, envisioning this new fantastic life she’d laid out for herself and realising it was no different to her old one – a glossier, flashier version yes, but still boring. It was life-by-numbers; it ticked all the boxes but it wouldn’t make her any happier than the one she had now, not really. She needed something drastic, something so far from the life she had now that she could never fall back into her old boredom and loneliness. Maybe she could move away? Somewhere sunny and strange where she’d have to learn a new culture.

“Fantastic. Then I’d be a loser in _two_ languages.” She grumbled, shredding her list and dropping it on Toby’s head. He batted at the falling paper and flopped onto his back to tear it apart.

“Who am I kidding, Toby? I can’t afford to change my life.”

Then an idea struck her that was so terrible, so disastrous, so futile, Molly knew it was the one. She took her phone and pulled up a number she had always meant to delete, but never quite got around to.

_Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me?_

She pressed send with a heavy heart, mouth full of some metallic taste that might have been fear or adrenaline or a combination of the two. With nothing to do but wait, Molly went to bed and was just about asleep when her phone vibrated violently on the bedside table.

_Well, well. I’ll see you at St Bart’s._

*****

He was Jim from I.T. again as if nothing had changed.

“Hello Molly.”

She set down the beaker before she dropped it. “I didn’t think you meant the lab. Sherlock could come in any moment.”

He just smiled. “He won’t. I must say I was intrigued by your text. Using Sherlock’s words to pique my interest – very clever.”

She took a deep breath. “I need you to help me change my life.”

“Really? And why do you need that?” he stepped closer, “Not why, obviously – I mean look at you – but why me?”

“It’s what you do, isn’t it? Help people.” She shrugged.

Jim’s smile was cat-like. “While I’m flattered, I don’t work for free and you certainly can’t afford me.”

“What do you want?”

“Want?”

“To help. Since I don’t have the money.”

“Miss Hooper!” he opened his eyes and mouth wide in pretend shock, “I’m stunned. You’re giving me _carte blanche_ to make demands?”

“No, no I didn’t say that. I’m asking what you want. I haven’t decided if I’ll give it to you yet.”

His voice lost its playfulness. “But we both know that you will, since you’ve got no one else.”

He got much closer, circling behind her. She could feel his breath on her neck.

“Who else would you ask, Molly? What would you do if I didn’t tell you how to escape?”

“I’d think of something.”

Jim laughed. “You clearly exhausted all your options before calling me.”

 

She spun, trapping herself between him and the counter as she turned teary eyes on him.

“Please. I don’t know how to stop being...this.”

“What are you willing to do, Molly? Would you kill someone? Build me a bomb? Poison Sherlock? Rob a bank?”

Molly was breathless. This was without a doubt the worst thing she had ever done. Moriarty had a hundred different horrible schemes going on at any one time that he might enlist her help with – but for once in her life, Molly decided not to care.

“I’d do it.”

Jim’s brows shot up. He bit his lip. “Hmm. Not what I was expecting.”

“Will you help me?”

He considered her a moment longer. “You weren’t like this before.”

“Well maybe being used yet again made me wake up a bit. I’m sick of getting stepped on, Jim.”

“I can see that. Alright, I’ll help you.”

“Really?” she gaped.

“Yes. I will make it so Molly Hooper no longer exists. You can forget her and start from scratch – but not just yet. I need you as you for a little bit longer.”

She grimaced. “Fine. Whatever it takes.”

“Whatever it takes,” he echoed with a curious smile, “I never get tired of people surprising me.”

“So what do you need?” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

Jim leaned back against the counter, hands resting on the surface. “You’re trained to figure out how people die. Must have seen some interesting causes in your time?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. Depends what you find interesting.”

“And you’ve got access to all these lovely chemicals,” he took a breath as if considering, “Could you make me something new?”

“Something...new?” she frowned.

“Something undetectable. Odds are you won’t be able to come up with anything original, given that I managed to find an untraceable poison at thirteen, but give it a shot. Wow me.”

Molly stared. “You want me to make you a new poison?”

“Or explosive or gas or something – think of the most difficult autopsies you’ve ever done and brew me up a little present. Then you’ll get your new life.”

Molly was horrified. She had helped catch dozens of killers in her own small way, and now Moriarty wanted her to give him a super weapon to be used on God knows who? Maybe even people she liked – or people she loved, she thought ruefully of Sherlock. But his offer hung tantalisingly close...and she’d said whatever it takes. She’d meant it.

“Fine. How soon do you want it?”

“Ooooo!” Jim clapped excitedly, “What fun! The china doll has a dark side after all. Take your time dear, experiment on your lab mice as much as you need to. Just remember the longer it takes, the longer you have to be Molly.”

Jim tipped an imaginary hat to her and strolled out, leaving Molly alone with her pipettes and vials and a paralytic fear of what she’d just agreed to.

*****

The first thing Molly did was consult her old case notes. She ripped through the stacks of paper like a madwoman, compiling a shortlist of every death that had stumped her, every clever murderer, everything she’d worked on with Sherlock. Then she cross-referenced with her medical books and ruled out anything too detectable, too obvious and created a full list of unusual lethal substances – especially the ones that would look like an accident. Too much salt, too much water, too much caffeine: there wasn’t much that wouldn’t kill you in the right amount, no matter how innocent it seemed. Even alcohol poisoning could be easily faked with the right ingredients. She considered the method of dosage that would be most commonplace and least suspicious. Basically, Molly Hooper put as much effort as possible into working out the ideal way to kill a man, and she didn’t feel bad about it once. She told herself it was all hypothetical really – a uni assignment. Using that detachment that made it so easy for her to work with the dead and so hard to interact with the living, Molly thought only in chemical formulas and biological reactions.

 

Getting lab time to test any of it was harder. She could get most of the supplies easily enough from hospital stores without too much fuss, but there was always a chance of being interrupted – especially by Sherlock, who never gave her forewarning and was the last person she wanted nosing about her business. So she’d been reduced to staying late after her night shifts, when even the great detective was less likely to be about, and test her theories on the unfortunate mice from the cancer research ward.

“Sorry guys.” She said as she dropped yet another tainted cheese cube into their cage.

Molly leaned closer, pen at the ready as the creatures stuffed their squeaking faces. She was so intent on watching for any sign of a reaction that she didn’t notice someone come in. After another three minutes, the mice started violently throwing up, but as soon as it was out of their system they waddled away happily enough.

“Damn it.” Molly sighed.

“Less metal next time, I think.”

She just about fell off her stool spinning to face him. Jim smiled.

“Hi! Thought I’d stop by and see how my favourite chemist was doing.”

“Not great.” She huffed.

“You made them wretchedly sick – that’s a start.”

“Well it’s not enough, is it? They’re supposed to be dead.” She flounced around the lab angrily, adjusting the formula and fiddling with her equipment.

“Tsk, tsk. Patience dear. You’re closer than I expected.”

“Why are you even here?” she stopped suddenly, glaring at him.

“I told you,” Jim shrugged as he opened the cage and pulled out a mouse, “I’m checking in.”

“Did you think I’d changed my mind?”

Jim tapped the tiny white head under his fingers. “Have you?”

“Clearly not.”

“Then I apologise for the intrusion.”

She regarded him scornfully, so frustrated with her result she forgot to be afraid of him.

“I like this one. I’m going to keep him.”

“If he dies later, let me know?” Molly quipped.

Jim chuckled and sauntered out.

*****

When Molly found the right answer, she practically danced around the lab. There were fifteen dead mice that proved this was the one. Molly glanced at the clock. _4am...I should probably wait a few hours_. But she was too eager, too excited. Here was her ticket out, and Jim could just deal with being woken up. She tossed the tiny pills into a container, tugged off her gloves and dialled. Surprisingly he answered on the second ring.

“I take it you’ve got something for me?”

“Yes. When can I meet you?”

“We’re having dinner at Black Forrest. You should come down.”

“What, now?” she looked down at her lab coat and scrubs, “I’m not dressed for it.”

“Figure something out, Molly. We’ll still be here.”

He hung up and she slowly lowered the phone. Did she have something stashed away at the hospital, or was she going to have to go all the way to her flat first? There was nothing she could think of – the only thing in her locker were the jeans and sweater she’d worn to work that day, and they weren’t exactly restaurant-worthy. Molly sighed, the tiredness she’d been forcing off for weeks starting to catch up with her now the initial excitement was fading. _Oh well – best clean all this up and head home_. She had some vague idea that if Jim liked it, she might not have to come back to St Bart’s at all, so she quickly starting gathering anything she might want to take with her. Molly was scanning through a cupboard when she saw it: the dress for her fourth date with Jim, the one that never materialised due to certain sexuality-related pretences. She’d bought it on a lunchbreak and put it in the cupboard, only to be told by Sherlock her date was actually gay. Between the being angry at Sherlock and letting Jim down easy, Molly had totally forgotten it was there.

“Right. Let’s get on with this.”

 

Black Forrest was intimidating enough just from the outside. The building was all black, shiny flat walls with an enormous futuristic bronze door – but once inside it transformed into a Gothic wonderland. The walls were red and black velvet, the floor a dark wood, and the light came from dim chandeliers hanging low over the small tables. Amazingly, despite the fact it was almost five now, it was packed; mostly men in suits with the odd spectacularly good-looking woman beside them. Molly took one look at the red-lit bar and knew she didn’t belong here. _Didn’t, past tense_ , she argued, _I do now_. A waiter came over, taking in her outfit appreciatively.

“Can I help you, miss?”

“Uh, I’m looking for someone.” She scanned the crowd.

“Do you have a name?”

_What are the odds Jim would use Moriarty?_

“Uh, Jim, maybe?”

The waiter looked a bit more sceptical now, like he knew she shouldn’t be here. “Perhaps you could describe him.”

“Fairly short, dark hair, big black eyes. He has a slight Irish accent.”

“I’m sorry miss, I haven’t seen him.”

Her phone buzzed and Molly shot him an apologetic glance.

 _Try Greichner_.

“Um, how about Greichner?”

“Ah yes, right this way miss.”

She followed the young man to the very back corner and found Jim in his usual suit with another two men similarly dressed. They were much bigger though, stockily built and mid-forties. One had a greying goatee and the other’s head was shaved. Both had a lot of gold on their fingers.

“Ah, _Fräulein_ Hooper! Good of you to join us.” Jim said in a faintly German accent, standing to kiss her cheek.

“I particularly like the dress.” He raised a brow.

She smoothed out the musk pink satin. “Thank you.”

“Please, sit. This is Herr Greichner,” Jim indicated the bearded man, “And his associate Bruin.”

“Charmed, _fräulein_.” Greichner nodded.

“Something to drink?”

“Sure. Uh, something white?”

Jim nodded to the waiter and the man disappeared back towards the bar.

 

“So, how long have you known our friend?” Greichner asked.

“Oh, not that long. About seven months?” she looked to Jim for confirmation.

“About that.” He shrugged.

“How long have you known him?” Molly said, surprising herself.

“Fifteen years we have been doing business – since I was much younger and much more handsome,” he chuckled, “And still we have not met before this night.”

Molly shot Jim a glance. Fifteen years and they’d never met – until now? She had a thick, worried feeling in her stomach and the slight trace of devilment in Jim’s smile only made it worse.

“We’ve just about finished for the night though. Don’t worry about being bored.” The genius laughed.

“Ah,” Bruin patted his pockets until he’d located a cigar and lighter, “I need a smoke. Jungen?”

“I’ll come with you. These ridiculous rules about no smoking at the table! In my day you could barely see across the room!”

Molly smiled. “Maybe you need to hang out in seedier establishments. There’s still a few places like that.”

Greichner guffawed and led the other man over to the bar.

“You’re going to kill them, aren’t you?”

Jim chuckled under his breath. “Oh so you picked up on that? Shame, they haven’t. Did you bring me something?”

Gritting her teeth, Molly reached into her bag and grabbed the container.

“Under the table, if you please dear.”

She glanced at the bar discreetly, but neither man seemed to be watching them. All the same she palmed the pills off to Jim as innocently as she could.

“And what do they do?”

“Fast acting dehydrator. Dissolve them in a liquid and they’re fine – but once they reach the bloodstream they react with the salt content, drying you up until the concentration kills you. Drinking more only makes it worse. It’ll look like bad diet and high blood pressure.”

“How long?” he whispered.

Molly shrugged. “Depends on the original level of hydration. Half an hour, maybe more.”

“Good, good – plenty of time to establish an alibi. You’ve tested it?”

“On mice, yeah.”

“How do you feel about trying it on a human?” he smirked.

Molly blanched. “Now?”

“Why not? I already had something else lined up for them; if these don’t work it can still go on.”

Molly took a deep breath. _In for a penny, right? They’re probably bad men anyway, dealing with Moriarty. Plus, new life tomorrow_. “Fine.”

 

Jim leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Excellent! Go distract them for me.”

“What?” she hissed.

“The bathrooms are near the bar. Just walk past and flash them a grin.”

She sighed. “Fine.”

Molly stood and wormed her way through the tables, passing the Germans puffing away on their cigars. She drew herself up and flashed Greichner a timid grin, glad to see him return it and twist to keep watching her as she walked into the toilet corridor. They were the nice kind, with private stalls that had their own sink and mirror. Molly locked herself in and leaned on the counter, looking at herself. _What am I doing? It’s one thing to make Jim a poison and know he’ll use it – but to actually see the people he’s going to kill? And help him do it? I can’t go back out there and smile and be casual!_ She could feel herself starting to panic, her pulse speeding up. Molly splashed her face quickly, the cool water good against her warm cheeks. She looked pretty crappy, given that it was dawn and she’d barely slept lately, but somehow the pink dress cancelled some of that out. It made her look cheerier than she was. _I can’t hide in here forever_. She looked at herself again, and really meant it. Molly could almost taste the change coming – she didn’t have to be in the background anymore. _What better time to start than now? This is the moment – this is the something drastic._ She pulled herself up, patted some colour back into her cheeks and (in a move she’d learned from Sherlock) strode commandingly back to the table.

“Ah, Molly! We were just about to toast.” Jim smiled.

He handed her a glass and for a second she met his gaze. What if he’d decided to get rid of her too? Some kind of strange irony or poetic justice. She searched Jim’s eyes for any sign she was about to poison herself, but he just stared at her levelly. _Oh well. Drastic_. She threw back the wine and he grinned.

“Shall we order another?”

 

Molly wasn’t sure how she could stand the waiting. As her guessed half hour drew nearer and nearer she had to force herself not to fidget. She didn’t want to be here when the effects kicked in – if they did. It might have been another failure, after all, and then Moriarty would cast her back into the lab.

“Have you ever been to the _real_ Black Forrest, _fräulein_?” Bruin asked.

“No. Is it nice?”

“Ha! It is the most terrifying place on earth. Dark, endless, tangled. You could get lost in there in an instant and never find your way out.”

“Like Hansel and Gretel?” Molly asked.

For some reason Jim found that funny, laughing as he poured himself more wine.

“Yes! Just like that.” Bruin nodded emphatically.

“What is the time, Haus?” Greichner furrowed his brow, concentrating intently on Jim’s face.

“Ah...6:10.”

“Christ! Our flight is at one. Come on Bruin, let’s get back to the hotel before I pass out here and make you carry me.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” The other man rolled his eyes.

The Germans stood and buttoned their jackets. “A pleasure as always, Herr Haus.”

“Yes, it was good to finally meet.” Jim nodded.

“Fräulein Molly. I pray we see you again someday.” Greichner reached over and kissed her hand.

“Perhaps sooner than you think.”

“I hope so!” he laughed, clapping a hand on the back of her chair.

They left and Molly let out a tired sigh. Jim propped his face in his hands, studying her relentlessly.

“I’m astounded.”

“I told you I wanted to be someone new.”

“I didn’t know you had it in you. I might have to put some more thought into my end of our bargain.”

Hope sprung up in her chest. “You mean you’ll do it?”

“Provided I hear word that I have two dead Germans who couldn’t watch what they ate – yes.”

She smiled wider than she had all night. “Thank you, Jim.”

“Well I never get tired of hearing that. Come along, Molly. It’s very late – or early – and we should get you home.”

She let herself be put into a cab, winding down the window when Moriarty didn’t immediately leave.

“Jim? Would you have killed me too?”

He winked. “Only if the occasion called for it, dear. I waited fifteen years for them, after all.”

She nodded and sat back, not looking behind as they drove away.

 

The next day Greichner and Bruin were on the front of the paper – ‘German smuggling boss suffers major heart attack’. She folded the page with a smile.

*****

Jim hadn’t told her not to keep up her normal routine, but Molly couldn’t have done it anyway. She had a month’s worth of missed sleep to catch up on. She called in a holiday and stayed in bed for days, cuddling with Toby and watching TV. Now that she had the promise of more, it didn’t feel so pathetic now, and she let herself enjoy the time off. It was almost a week before she heard from him.

 _Come to the Portobello markets with anything you want to keep. I’ll find you_.

Molly had expected to feel scared when the time finally came, but instead she was giddy with anticipation. It was like a spy novel, meeting in a crowded place to start her new life as someone else. In the past week she’d killed two men – there was nothing more to be afraid of, surely. She filled a decent-sized satchel with the few pieces of clothing or books she wanted, leaving the rest as mementos of the old Molly. She quickly fashioned herself a good, secure sling for Toby and headed out.

Portobello was as busy as ever, the rows of brightly coloured fruits and clothes and jewellery and everything you could need spread out along the road. She figured Jim would find her easily enough, so she wandered here and there admiring things, slightly nervous but mostly excited. She was looking at some fresh fish when she spotted him, casual in a jacket and jeans.

“Molly dearest! Walk with me.”

She fell into step with him automatically, weaving their way through the other shoppers.

“I saw the news. It worked.”

“Even better than we’d planned, actually. I am impressed. It’s similar to something a scientist is working on in eastern Romania, but effective enough for now. You’re certainly delivered on your end.”

“So...what happens now?”

“Now we come to a choice, Molly.” Jim stopped. Molly realised they’d reached the end of the street.

“A choice?”

 

“I was surprised how well you handled things at the restaurant. And you seem to have no qualms about what you provided me with, or how I used it.”

“I don’t have time for qualms.” Molly shrugged.

“True, true. But did you still find it secretly distasteful? Did you go home and toss in bed about it?”

“No.”

“You liked it. Not being yourself. Working with me.”

She frowned. “I guess.”

“Then I’m going to make an offer. Why not do it all the time?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Work for me. You wanted a new life, right? Something different to being the good girl that everyone ignores and takes for granted? At my side, you’d never have to worry about that, Molly. You can be ridiculously wealthy. You can travel. You can meet lots of dangerous people and help me kill them.”

“Don’t you have people better qualified for this?” she spluttered.

“People I can pay, yes. People with certain skill sets. But employees just aren’t the same, Molly. There’s my anonymity to consider, and you already knowing could be handy. Not to mention I’ve seen how loyal you can be, and I’m sure with the right encouragement your talents can bloom.”

She was quiet for a moment, listening to the sounds of the road. “Is this to get to Sherlock? You know, so you can rub it in his face later?”

“Would you care if it was?”

“No.” She said with certainty.

“That’s door number 1, anyway. Door number 2 is an all expenses-paid one-way trip to Rio, with a furnished apartment waiting and a new identity. It’s the freedom you wanted, and it’s far, far away from here.”

“And what will I do in Rio?”

Jim shrugged. “Whatever you want. Help orphans, build houses, sell hats for all I care.”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick envelope.

“You can choose, Molly. Take this and get a cab to the airport. Or stay with me and live for the next challenge.”

Molly didn’t know. She kept flashing over and over to the thought she’d had before: _what would be so different about life somewhere else?_ She might find something new that made her happy, or once the novelty wore off she might just have the same problems she had here. After all, _she_ needed to change, not her city. But Moriarty’s offer came with the biggest catch of all – Moriarty. He was crazy, she knew that, had heard Sherlock say it often enough. She wouldn’t ever truly be safe with him. She’d have to do things that in the past would have disgusted her. Was a little adventure worth that? Toby miaowed and pawed at her chest, and Molly looked up into those black perceptive eyes. _Life fast, die young right? That’s the way the stars do it._

“I’ll stay.”

“Wonderful!” Jim clicked and a car on the other side of the road started, “Let’s remake you.”

*****

From the markets they went to a department store so she could pick out a new wardrobe. Molly felt strange trying things on for Jim, but since he was sitting so patiently playing with Toby she couldn’t help but feel comfortable.

“What about a name?” she called over the dressing room stall.

“Anything you’ve ever particularly liked?” he asked.

She made a face as she pulled on the next shirt. “Nothing like Molly. It’s too, too...little girly. Too sweet, too cute.”

“Alright. Something majestic then, striking? How about Catherine or Victoria?”

“Urgh, no. Too stuffy. I mean they’re pretty but...I want something that demands attention, but not too much. You know, unusual without being weird.”

“Hmm...Christina? Jacqueline?”

She opened the door. “What about Evelyn?”

“Evelyn?” Jim made a face as he nodded in approval of the outfit.

“Yeah. It’s sort of old-fashioned so you don’t hear it very much, and it sounds sort of impressive or formidable, like a professor. Plus I can be Eve for short.”

“With all the Biblical connotations that contains.” He raised a brow as she went back in to change again.

“Exactly.”

“Alright, Evelyn. Last name?”

“Smith. Blends in.”

“Very sensible – if you want to get caught. Smith is much too easy to remember _because_ it’s so common. Pick something harder.”

Molly gathered up the pile of things she was buying with a pout. “Walsh.”

“Better, easily misheard in crowded places. I can have the appropriate documents run up while we lunch. What are you in the mood for?”

Molly emerged with an armful of new dresses to add to the ones already waiting for her at the counter. “Something different.”

 

After lunch they headed for her new, Moriarty-funded flat. It was in Docklands with the trendy types, a place that might have intimidated her before. But now Molly – _Eve_ , she reminded herself  - thought it fitting. The flat was a large, airy place with cream furniture and a balcony covered in bright green pot plants. It was very tropical getaway, sort of chic in a classic way. Eve loved it.

“Go on Tobes, explore.” She released the kitten to prowl around their new living room.

“Come along dear, we’ve still got things to cover.” Jim headed for the kitchen.

There was an envelope and a set of keys on the counter. Jim tore it open and tipped out a bunch of ID cards, bank cards, all the things Evelyn Walsh would need – but lots of them. There were cards with different names, for illicit or incognito purposes she supposed, and four copies of the ID. The photo had been altered in each to a different hair colour.

“Gives you some idea, Eve. You’ll find the appropriate supplies in the bathroom. What takes your fancy?”

She thought for a moment, quickly discarding the blonde. She was tossing up between a vibrant red and black when she decided that even if the whole idea was not to be overlooked, at least being able to blend in might be a bonus.

“Black.”

“Excellent choice. Well, I’ll leave you to sort out your things. There’s a phone in there with my number. I’ll be in touch in a day or two.”

“You certainly put a lot of effort into this.”

“It’s what I do.” He grinned, “Oh and Evelyn? Remember you’re not Molly anymore. You can’t contact Mr Holmes.”

The girl that used to be Molly stuck out her chin. “I never want to see him again.”

“Fantastic. Ciao!”

Jim breezed out, taking some of the energy in the room with him. Eve decided to check out the rest of the apartment like Toby. She poked around the spacious rooms and found they matched the lounge in terms of style. There was a bedroom with a decently sized ensuite, a smaller powder room for her guests – a novel idea really, given that as of then the only person ‘she’ knew was Jim – and a laundry room. Molly got to work unpacking the things she’d brought from home and things Jim had bought her, and when she was finished it felt a little more real.

“Alright. Time for the final touch.”

*****

Jim seldom met with his agents in public; but then Jim seldom had employees as fascinating as Molly. He’d been convinced at St Bart’s she was nothing more than a cliché, a sad lovesick fangirl who didn’t know how to talk to people while they were still breathing. Yet apparently all this time she’d been hiding something more, some hidden drive or ambition or spirit that couldn’t have been further from that mousy image. She’d helped him murder two men with the drug she created; she’d looked at him, knowing he might have poisoned her, and drunk it down anyway. That was worth a face-to-face.

He resettled his sunglasses as he sipped his macchiato and continued flicking through his emails. He was going more casual today in a t-shirt and jeans, a little Jim from I.T and a little rock star with the big cuff on his wrist. He glanced up as a woman sat in the chair opposite him. She had ebony waves that hung loose around her shoulders, eyes hidden behind giant black glasses. Her trench coat was bright red, and her shoes a sharp, angular black pump.

“Miss Walsh...I barely recognised you.” He raised his brows, looking over the top of his sunnies.

“That’s the idea, Jim.” She smirked.

“Ready to get to work?”

“Mind if I order first?” Eve said casually, like she wasn’t really asking.

He chuckled. “No please, go right ahead.”

She hailed down a waiter and Jim bit back a grin at the man’s awed face as she rattled off her order. It was almost as entertaining as Eve’s own satisfied smile at the attention.

“Stop that.” She said when they were alone again.

“Stop what?”

“Looking so pleased with yourself.”

“So long as you’re happy, my dear, I don’t see why I should.”

“You said there was a job for me?” she ignored the sweet talk.

“Yes. That ingenious little mixture that worked so wonderfully on Greichner and Bruin – I’d like to market it.”

 

She frowned. “I thought you never repeated yourself.”

“I don’t like to, no, it ruins the fun of thinking up something new and it makes me look predictable. But this isn’t a repeat – it’s an extension. We’re going to tweak your formula until it’s perfect and then sell them to the top assassins and highest bidders.”

“If you flood the market with them, the authorities are going to notice a massive increase in heart attacks among the criminal classes.” Eve pursed her lips.

“Who said anything about flooding the market? I figure for the perfect, untraceable, accidental death people would be willing to pay $50,000 a pop. Maybe more. Just think of all those bored trophy wives and trust fund kids waiting for their wealthy relatives to kick it. $50,000 is pocket change to them.”

“And with a few, isolated deaths that could quite easily be age-related no one will investigate too hard,” she smiled, “Clever.”

“I’m nothing but, darling. There’s a lab with everything you need and some lovely young rabbits to test it on. I can even hire you some helpers if you need them.”

“I don’t.”

They fell silent as the waiter returned with her coffee and Jim cleared his throat.

“Well, that’s about everything. I’ll text you the address and someone will let you in.”

“Great.”

“Good to see you, Evie.”

She met his gaze with none of her old fear. Even when he was just Jim from IT asking her out in the cafeteria, there’d been a wave of nervous apprehension over her face whenever their eyes met; now she just regarded him politely.

“And you.”

 

Eve got a taxi to her new lab. It was in a large medical centre with a shared reception, and when she showed her ID to the woman behind the desk she was rewarded with a smile.

“Right this way Dr Walsh.”

Her rooms were tucked right at the bottom of the building, below ground level. There was a large well-equipped work space and an almost endless supply cupboard separated by a row of cages.

“There’s a kitchen on the second floor, if you wanted to come up and eat with some of the other tenants.” The receptionist chirped.

“Sounds lovely. Bathrooms?”

“Just down the hall by the lift.”

“Thank you. I’d like to get started right away, if you don’t mind...”

“Oh no, of course! I wouldn’t want to be in the way.”

Eve smiled benevolently as the little woman took herself off before shedding her jacket. There was a laptop on one of the benches with a ribbon around it and a note. Eve opened it carefully.

_Secure, but lock it in the safe under the bench at the end of the day._

“More spy fun.” She snorted, hitting the power button.

 _Now_ , Eve thought, _how can I make this better?_

 

On her second day at the lab Eve debated where to have lunch. She could go upstairs and suss out the other doctors, see if there was anyone she might want to befriend, or she could keep to herself. It’s tough. _If I never go up it might be suspicious; if I do they might get too interested in what I’m working on_. She decided it was safer to know a few names and faces, if only so she could keep an eye on what else was happening in the centre. She didn’t want any surprises.

Eve took the lift up and found the kitchen easily enough, a cramped room off the hall between the offices of _Dr Henson: Ophthalmologist_ and _Dr Ricorde: Genetics & Hereditary Disease_. There were about five people eating when she walked in with her bought sandwich, a mixture of men and women her age and a little bit older. Clearly this was not the old boys’ club of St Bart’s. Her entrance put an end to any conversation.

“Hi. Do you mind if I sit?”

“You’re Dr Walsh, right? Just moved in downstairs.” One of the men asked.

“That’s me. It’s Evelyn.”

“Evelyn,” he repeated as if he’d never heard the word before, “Please, sit. I’m Frank, and this is Harry, Steve, Marjorie and Laura.”

She waved to the group, but not the way Molly would have, not shy and trying to seem likable. Eve just waved to acknowledge them.

“So what are you doing down there, Evelyn?” Harry asked. He had thin gold wire-rimmed glasses he kept pushing up his nose.

“Oh, bit of this, bit of that. Cardiovascular research mostly. Yourself?”

“Oh I’m into some experimental hormonal treatments. Correcting imbalances and that sort of thing.”

“Sounds interesting. And you?” Eve turned to someone else.

By the end of lunch she’d walked away with five new people who could assist her if she needed it. _Not bad for half an hour_.

 

 _I think Dr Ricorde has a crush on you_.

Eve rolled her eyes at the screen. She opened a new email.

_What makes you think it’s just him?_

It was a few moments before the reply appeared in her inbox.

_I know it’s not. Going to get yourself a hot surgeon boy toy?_

Eve snorted and typed faster.

_The experiments are going well, if you actually want to have a serious conversation._

_Good. Let me know when they’re ready._

She frowned. It was odd that Jim wasn’t rushing her; in fact he barely checked on her work at all. Maybe he had more important things on his plate, or maybe he just didn’t care that much if she improved the formula at all. As it was, in the three weeks she’d been in the lab she’d already optimised the dehydration process to fifteen minutes and lowered the total salt concentration so it was still lethal, but less noticeable. She figured within another week it might be done.

 _I need more rabbits_.

_Do you have a colour preference?_

She pressed delete and went back to her analysis.

*****

“It’s finished, or at least it’s the best I can make it. I’m no chemistry genius you know.”

“Super! I’ll start advertising. Shall we celebrate?”

Eve tapped her fingers against the phone. “Socialising with the boss? I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“It is when the boss insists.”

“Jim, surely you’re watched in public. If Mycroft sees me, he’ll tell Sherlock-”

“Honestly dear, you think I can’t protect my own privacy from someone like _Mycroft_?”

Eve sighed. “Fine. What did you have in mind?”

“Let’s do dinner. I’ll send a car. Dress up.”

“Sure.”

“Cheerio!”

Eve hung up, shaking her head. Sometimes Moriarty seemed like a child with ADHD, always zipping about with his wild plans. The more she spoke to him, the less ominous he seemed – but she knew it was there under the surface, just waiting for the next snap. Eve steeled herself to the idea of dinner and continued dismantling her lab.

 

The buzzer rang and Eve crossed to check the CCTV screen.

“Ready?” Jim’s voice crackled impatiently over the intercom.

“Two seconds.”

She grabbed her purse and checked her hair one last time before heading downstairs to the waiting mastermind.

“A Mini?” she smiled.

“Not so ostentatious as a limo, but I promise you it’s bigger on the inside.” He held out his hand.

She ignored it and climbed in behind the driver. Jim was right though: the backseat was the softest suede she’d ever felt and there was a small fridge built into the centre console. Jim slid in beside her and poured two glasses of champagne as they pulled out into the traffic.

“To a job well done, Dr Walsh.” He toasted.

“I take it you already have some buyers in mind.”

“Several. Maybe I’ll give you a commission for all that hard work.”

“Hmm,” she sipped, “It’s a shame it’s over. I quite liked some of the other doctors.”

“Oh?” Jim asked, eyes twinkling dangerously.

“They were all so nice to me.” She said, dripping with faux-innocence.

“I’m sure.”

“You’re not jealous are you Jim?” Eve teased.

“What on earth would make you think that? I’m much more into firemen.”

She snorted, laughing prettily as she fought to keep from spilling her drink.

“I thought detectives were your thing.” She poked her tongue out.

“I thought we had that in common.”

“Maybe I just like brains in general.”

“An admirable trait, Miss Evie.”

 

Jim had picked a tiny French place underneath some massive hotel near the West End. Eve felt slightly overdressed in her black sheath number, but her mother had always said better to be overdressed than under. They were shown to a table in the very centre of the room and left to peruse the menu.

“Have you ever been to Paris?” Jim stared dreamily into the distance, “I find the French have a great respect for my talents, since they mastered intrigue centuries ago.”

“Once, after college. Some girlfriends and I made the trip for our graduation. I thought it was terribly romantic at the time.”

“Did you think yourselves Bohemians?” Jim snickered.

Eve gave him a disapproving look. “You should know better than that. We were there to stuff ourselves with cheese and wine and croissants.”

“Speaking of, shall we crack a bottle? Something historic?”

“Why not? It’s not like either of us have to work tomorrow.”

“You never know – I might have something else in mind for you already.”

Evelyn leaned forward on her elbows, dropping her voice coquettishly. “Really? Such as?”

Jim laughed. “You are a wicked thing, my dear.”

“And you’re an incorrigible flirt. I’m just trying to hold my own.”

“Fair enough. I must say, I find you much more appealing than before. There’s something truly...alive about you now.”

Eve shrugged. “I didn’t have much of a life before.”

“Then I should pat myself on the back for a job well done.”

“Don’t you do that anyway?” she teased.

“Credit where credit’s due, Evie. Shall we order?”

 

An hour, six snails, one perfectly delicate rabbit and a bottle of Dom Perignon later, Eve had changed her mind about dinner with the boss. Jim was funny in an odd, sharp way, and he loved to talk. He was widely travelled and cultured (not that she expected anything less) and his stories were good if you overlooked some of the more callous or brutal parts. Eve didn’t really mind them though – she’d just spent a month finalising a pill used to murder people and almost ten years dissecting corpses. She was used to death without purpose or justice. Did it matter in the scheme of things if Moriarty tipped the scales a little?

“So have you decided who you are yet?” he asked as they perused the dessert list.

“Just the basics.”

“Surely your friendly co-workers at the centre asked questions. You didn’t invent a background for them?” Jim frowned sceptically.

She shook her head. “If someone asked where I’d trained I just changed the subject. I don’t see the need to come up with some back story.”

“Oh come on, it’ll be fun. Here, I’ll help. Where were you born?”

“Hmm…London.”

“Boring! But I suppose that’s easy enough to fake. Alright, so let’s say educated at an all girls academy in Surrey.”

She raised a brow. “All girls?”

“It’s a nice visual. All girls college, top of your class, went to Oxford.”

“No one is going to believe I went to Oxford!”

“Fine...you studied overseas. Berlin. Your grandmother lived there. Specialist in various research fields.”

Eve took another sip of champagne. “How do you do this?”

“Do what?” Jim said distractedly, obviously still thinking about Evelyn’s imaginary past.

“Keep so much information in your head without forgetting what’s real and what’s not.”

“Practice? Or maybe I was born for it.” He smiled.

“You never feel overwhelmed?”

She could have sworn there was something in his expression, just for a second, before he laughed. If she’d been pushed to name it she would have struggled; it was something between weary and sad, or maybe lost. But it was gone in an instant.

“Oh Evie, you forget who you’re talking to. I think it’s impossible for me to bite off more than I can chew.”

She met his gaze steadily. “Of course.”

“So. Soufflé?”

 

They got another bottle for the road, falling into the back of the car with less grace than Eve would have liked.

“It’s much too nice of a night to go straight home. Let’s take the scenic route.” Jim tapped the driver’s shoulder.

“I didn’t think you cared about things like that.” Eve said, slurring just the tiniest bit. She felt good, warm, loose. Jim smiled at her and there was nothing threatening or mocking about it. She wasn’t afraid of him anymore. _When did that happen?_

“I can appreciate the city as much as anyone. More, perhaps. I look at all the faces on the street and I wonder if they even realise how precarious their existence is.”

“I get that. Working in the morgue, I sort of got used to the idea everyone had an expiration date and it’s pointless to pretend otherwise. Maybe that’s why I never tried to change – it didn’t seem to matter.”

Jim settled down in the suede until they were eye to eye. “I didn’t see it before. Maybe it was hidden under your ill-timed jokes and bluntness about the whole thing...but you’re not afraid of the dark.”

“Why waste time on it?” she shrugged, “It’s worrying for nothing.”

“Do I still make you nervous, little bird?”

“You make me wary. You’re unpredictable. You’re too clever, too abstract. You joke around and flirt but in the end I know if it suited you, you’d have me killed and never miss me.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?” he whispered.

“Should it? Everybody dies. I’d rather work for you and risk it than wade through my boring old life and die in bed.”

“Evelyn, in my line of work I’ve met people so cold, so hard it surprised even me. Women, men, it didn’t matter – they were empty inside, all their humanity pushed away for one purpose or another. Some of them had learned to like the killing, to revel in it. But I’ve never met anyone who greeted the darkness, someone who acknowledged it without letting it change them.”

“I think it’s part of everyone,” Eve shrugged, “And it frightens them so they pretend it’s not there. I’ve never thought it was frightening, not really. There are much worse things than the dark.”

They didn’t speak again for the rest of the trip, just watched each other. Jim’s car stopped outside her flat and the driver opened the door to help her out.

“Thanks for dinner. I had a good time.”

“You’ll be seeing me again, Evie. I promise.”

*****

Evelyn woke up with a massive hangover, a rat’s nest on her head and a text from Jim.

_How do you feel about trying something different?_

She stared blearily at the screen through the fog in her head.

_What kind of different?_

_Check your mail._

Work or not, she needed a shower before she could face going downstairs. Evelyn stood under the spray and let the water wake her up, wrapping a gown around her before she went down to check the box. There was a small long box like a cigar, with no return address. Eve cracked it open and tipped out a cylindrical black pouch, then a small SD card. She headed back up and slotted it into her laptop, pulling up a video file and some documents.

“Good morning, Evelyn! I trust your head feels as bad as mine.”

She smirked at the ragged-looking Moriarty, more dishevelled than she’d ever imagined he could be.

“I was going to assign you to work with some of my chemical weapons people, but after last night the thought occurred you might have other uses. The pouch contains a syringe featuring one of my own concoctions. It’s incredibly deadly, so don’t go pricking yourself.”

She snorted in derision and kept watching.

“There are some files here describing its intended target. If you feel like you’re truly not afraid of the dark, then you can follow the instructions and dispatch him for me. If you’ve changed your mind, well. I’d be very disappointed.”

The video ended and Eve opened the other files. There was a picture and brief history of the man. He was blonde, with a terrible scar through one eyebrow and a hard line of a mouth.

“Arms dealer. Well Toby, what do you think?” she spun the screen to face her kitten.

Toby hissed and she nodded.

“I agree. Let’s have a look at these instructions.”

Jim’s plan was simple enough, still dangerous but not overly so. Eve sat back and rubbed her chin thoughtfully. She’d never done anything like this before _. But maybe that’s the point? It certainly feels like a test._ She checked the clock. _If I’m doing it, I’d better go pick an outfit_.

 

The bouncer stared as Evelyn walked into the nightclub. Maybe he was right to; she’d picked the dress to catch attention after all. The red satin curved around her body like an embrace, covering her from knee to shoulder but somehow obscene in its texture. She scanned the room and spotted Martin at the VIP tables in the corner. She strutted over confidently, secretly hoping Jim was right about her name being on the door, but the second bouncer took one look at her and waved Eve through without asking. Martin looked up as soon as she got close, mouth falling slightly agape before he recovered himself.

“Daniel Martin?” she held out her hand.

“Miss Fitzgerald. It’s good to meet you.” His accent was brash and American.

“Not the usual sort of place I do business, sir.” She sat without being asked, raising her brows.

“Apologies, but I’m on a tight schedule and I had to make an appearance here anyway. Though you can’t say it doesn’t suit you.” He flashed her a grin with too many teeth.

Eve kept her face cold. “Hmm. Do you have my client’s order?”

“Waiting in a warehouse on the waterfront. You show me those six figures in my bank account, I give you the address and the keys.”

“There’s a bit more to it than that, Mr Martin. We’ll need proof of the goods.”

He pulled out his phone and held it up, showing her a picture of two rows of boxes marked ‘Farm Fresh Melons’. One had its lid off, revealing carefully wrapped packages of C4.

“Satisfied?”

“Not completely, but it will have to do for now.” She said straight-faced.

Martin smirked as he took a sip of his drink and internally she scowled. _Gross_. Eve took out her phone and sent Jim the all clear text.

“I believe if you check your balance?”

Martin fiddled around for a moment before chuckling. “All there. Your client is a good man.”

“If you say so. The address, Mr Martin?”

He handed her an envelope with a slip of paper and set of keys. Eve stood.

“Well, if that’s all, I’ll let you get on with your schedule.”

“That’s it?” he frowned, “Stay! Have a drink to seal the deal.”

“I don’t drink while I’m working.” She shook her head.

“Our business is concluded. Surely you’re not still on the clock at this hour?” he gave her a look that was probably charming on another man.

“Fine. One drink – to celebrate a successful deal. But then I really must go.” She slipped the envelope into her purse.

He waved over a waiter. “Sure, just one.”

 

Daniel Martin was not a fool, but he shared a common male weakness for pretty women. Evelyn was content to sit there and listen to him rattle on about himself, sipping her drink slowly enough that by the time she’d finished her ‘just one’, Martin had had three. He looked a bit more relaxed, and she graced him with a smile.

“Well, this has been lovely Mr Martin, but I really should get home.”

“Please – call me Daniel.”

“Daniel.”

“You got a first name?” he asked.

“Of course.” She said teasingly.

“Well, what is it?”

“I don’t think I’ve had enough to tell you that.”

He quickly flagged down the waiter. “Another vodka for Miss Fitzgerald.”

She laughed. “Alright! I’ll tell you. Lucy.”

“Lucy...that’s cute. I like that.”

“Thank you.” She wrinkled her nose cheerfully.

The waiter put her vodka on the table and Martin handed him a tip.

“Well now I guess I’ve got to stay and finish this.”

“Exactly. Tell me something about yourself, Lucy.”

“Not much to say, really.”

“Tell me how you got into this business, pretty thing like you.”

“I guess you could say it was a guy.”

“A guy?” Martin snickered.

“A guy like no one else.”

“I doubt that, Luce. Most men are pretty average. Every now and then though, you find an exceptional one.”

“Are you an exceptional man, Daniel?” she leaned forward, her hand slipping onto his knee.

“That’s not really for me to say, is it?”

Hmm,” she smiled and sat back, “Maybe we’ll just have to find out.”

 

Two drinks later and Martin was drunk. Not falling down, blind drunk but enough that he didn’t notice Eve hadn’t touched her drink, despite the fact she kept regularly bringing it to her lips. He was laughing loudly in that very American, unreserved way, telling her how he couldn’t understand half that English slang. She chuckled along in all the right places and teased him about his own colloquialisms, gradually sliding closer towards him on the edge of her chair.

“Oh Miss Lucy, you really are a hoot. I’ve never met an English girl who knew how to have fun like that.” He wiped his hand over his cheek.

“What’s your idea of fun, Daniel?”

His eyes narrowed slightly as he leered. “Wanna find out?”

“What about your... _tight_ schedule?” she edged closer, face hovering near his ear.

“Fuck it. I’m the boss, right?”

“I’m sure.” She squeezed his thigh.

Martin stood and held out a hand to her. She took it and let him pull her up, not even blinking when another two men sitting at the table adjacent stood and followed. They walked through the club holding hands, one of the bodyguards hurrying forward to check the door before they got to the street. Evelyn could feel her heart speeding up. Sitting at the table had been easy; Martin had been content to charm himself and it had taken less than zero effort to keep him drinking. Now it was harder – she had to be more careful.

 _Remember_ , Jim’s file had said, _He might be trying to play you as well. If he took the keys back he could sell the explosives on to someone else and skip town with the money. Be alert_.

“You have a car?” she asked, clinging to his chest as he slid an arm around her.

“Nah, too noticeable. Dmitri‘ll get us a cab.”

The four of them piled in. It was very strange, the two silent guards watching blank-faced as Martin ran his hands up and down her thigh, but he didn’t seem to think anything of it.

“Shouldn’t we wait for, uh, a little more privacy?” she whispered.

“Oh the boys are fine.” He waved a hand, going for her mouth.

She kissed him back enthusiastically, remembering she was supposed to be drunk too. Eve let herself be half pulled into his lap, his broad-tipped fingers digging into her satin-covered hips. The cab stopped outside the Grand and one of the guards cleared his throat.

“We’re here, sir.”

“Oh sure, sure. Come on darlin’, let’s head in before this nice cabbie kicks us out.” He chuckled.

They drew some resigned nods from the reception desk as they crossed the lobby, taking the lift up to one of the top floors. The guards unlocked the room door and went inside to check while Martin pawed at her in the hallway.

“All clear sir. Can we check your purse, miss?”

“My purse?” she frowned, “Why would you need to do that?”

“Need to make sure you’re not carrying any weapons.”

“Your employer is an arms dealer. I think he would know if I was.” She laughed indulgently.

“Come on Luce, let the boys have their little look and then we can get on with the real entertainment.” Martin tutted.

She sighed and opened the clutch, taking out the envelope before handing it over. Dmitri had a quick look before handing it back.

“All good. Thank you.”

“Alright boys, we can take it from here.”

Martin led her inside and shut the door. Eve was barely through before he’d spun and caught her up in his arms, tugging her tight to him. She met his embrace with a passion sparked not from any actual desire, but from the excitement of her task. She’d made it inside the hotel room.

“Shall we have another drink?” she asked around his lips.

“Don’t need one, honey – I just want you.”

“Alright. Where’s the bedroom?”

 

He smiled and took her hand, leading her through the extensive lounge space into a luxurious room with a very large bed covered in soft grey sheets. The blinds were open to a view over London’s rooftops. Martin kicked his shoes off and sat on the edge of the bed looking up at her. Eve crossed to a chair by the bed on the window side and laid down her clutch, carefully taking off each shoe before she placed them on the floor beside it.

“Come on Luce, I’m dying over here.”

She shot him a look over her shoulder and walked back, turning away from him.

“Can you give me a hand with this?”

He tried to get the zip down, but his hands were unsteady and it kept getting caught.

“God...fucking thing. How much do you love this dress, Luce?”

“Oh no, you’re not ripping it off.”

“Come on! I’ll buy you a new one. Two, even.”

She licked her lips, watching as his eyes followed the movement. “It just needs some lubrication. Do you have anything greasy?”

“Maybe in the bathroom. Let me check.”

He trundled in, turned the light on and started pawing through his shaving kit. Eve followed, still toying with the zip under her arm.

“Should have some gel here somewhere. Where’d I put the damn thing?”

Eve was slightly behind him as he bent over. She slipped a hand into her bra and pulled out the slim pouch, peeling it open one-handed where Martin couldn’t see it in the mirror. She flicked the cap off carefully, steadied her grip on the plunger, and with one quick motion jabbed it into his thigh.

“What the fuck?” he half-yelled.

Eve threw her hand over his mouth to cut off any more. He was stronger than her, but he’d been drinking and Moriarty’s poison worked quickly to paralyse his muscles. Their eyes met in the mirror, and she watched the speck of realisation and fear before Martin’s face went blank and slack. She took her hand away and let him fall, careful not to make too much noise. She retrieved the needle and put the cap back on, sliding it into its pouch before she had to stop and lean on the basin. She’d just killed a man – actually killed one, not watched Jim do it, not created something to do it. She’d listened to a man talk for two hours and then killed him. Her eyes were bright and excited, her smile almost unrecognisable. Evelyn looked at herself and grinned. _This is certainly drastic_.

 

There was a noise at the door and she froze. Surely no one had heard that slight shout? She hurriedly tucked the syringe back into her bra and crept into the other room for her purse and shoes, hoping that if she crouched behind the bed whoever it was would go into the bathroom and let her slip out while they were distracted by the body. Her breath was so loud she could have sworn it was audible from the end of the hall, but the only sound was careful, soft footsteps in the lounge and then the bedroom door opened. Eve steeled herself and sunk further into the floor, but whoever it was didn’t move.

“Very nice. Neatly done, hidden away so it’s not obvious as soon as you walk in – an excellent job, Evie.”

“Jim?” she sprung up.

He was in one of his nicer suits, a navy Westwood with a matching tie. It was very unremarkable middle management and very discreet.

“How did it feel?” he stepped closer.

In the semi-darkness she could barely make out his face. The bathroom light left him mostly silhouetted, the pale light from outside too weak to compete. She moved forward to get a better look.

“It was fine. I didn’t have too much trouble.”

“But how did it feel?” Jim pointed a finger against her chest, pushing slightly.

Everything that had been welling up inside her flowed over again. Eve smiled.

“Amazing. I could feel the danger for a moment when he figured out what was happening – that last panicked strength as he tried to fight and knew he couldn’t. I felt the life going out of him, his organs shutting down, his muscles going limp. I saw it Jim. I’ve never seen anyone die before; they were already dead when they got to me.”

“And what’s it like from the other side?” he said, hushed.

“It’s a thrill.”

“Good. You did even better than I expected.”

Her heart was still pounding from that sudden fear of being caught; her face was flushed and the heat felt like it was spreading through her body. Eve thought of the man lying dead in the bathroom, and how she’d put him there, and how much he’d wanted her. She looked at Jim – cold, deadly, snake-like Jim. _Is this how he always feels?_ She looked at those deep black pit eyes watching her speculatively and Evelyn knew she wanted to be closer to that danger.

“Jim?”

“Yes Evie?”

“Do we need to leave in a hurry?”

He looked around, lower lip out as he considered it. “Probably not.”

“Good.”

 

She grabbed his lapels, dragging his face towards hers until their lips collided. Jim seemed to hesitate for a moment before leaning back.

“This isn’t some residual _Molly_ , is it?”

She growled, fingers cupping the back of his head. “This is Evelyn. She knows what she wants when she sees it.”

“And what do you want, Evelyn?”

“An equal.”

“And you think that’s me?” he smirked, “You think we’re equal?”

“The same under the skin, Jim. Black as night and not afraid.”

There was that look again, the one from the restaurant. It lingered now though, hanging between them as she stared him down. Eve didn’t quite understand it but she couldn’t look away.

Jim took a shuddering breath, fingers twisting around her arms. “Oh yes. I see it now.”

Evelyn grinned in triumph and kissed him again, and this time he responded in kind. She had his jacket off in a second, then his tie, while he ran small sturdy hands over her red satin sides. She was itching with excitement, full of too much energy and adrenaline that was quickly turning into a burning hunger. Eve threw him back on the bed and yanked her zip down, the syringe falling to the floor as she slid out of her dress. She straddled the mastermind as he sat where Martin had not more than five minutes ago.

“Is it always like this?” she breathed into his ear.

“Always.” Jim’s eyes blazed.

She unbuttoned his shirt, fumbling with her shaky hands. His kisses were fierce, like they were ripping into her somewhere in her core and tugging her open, but they weren’t enough. She wanted to feel the darkness in him and show him hers. Evelyn undid his belt and stood, dragging Jim’s pants off. He captured her waist and leaned forward, nipping at her stomach. She pushed him away and took off her underwear, pushing him back on the bed as she sat over him again. Eve reached between them as she lowered her mouth to his, guiding his semi-hard flesh into her. Jim stiffened as her walls closed around him, his lips stilling for a second as he groaned. Eve threw her head back and exhaled loudly, their hips flush together. Their eyes met and Jim groaned again, hands clenching against her thighs.

 

As quickly as it had begun, the stillness was over. Jim flung them over, driving into her like he never wanted to do anything else. Evelyn reached up and raked her nails down his back, arching into the contact as she sighed. She opened her eyes and caught sight of Martin’s limp arm lying across the bathroom door, and she squeezed Moriarty to her tighter.

“You did that. You changed a man’s fate.” Jim hissed, following her gaze.

“ _We_ did,” she faced him again, “Together.”

Jim leaned his forehead against hers and she bucked up, forcing him back over until she was on top. Eve gripped his shoulders and rode, throwing herself into it. This was the first time she had ever felt so connected during sex, something not emotional but not purely physical either. She’d had boyfriends she liked, even loved, and sex with them had felt sweet and nice and meaningful. But this was some primal recognition of another predator, a basic instinctual feeling that Jim was more than the sum of his parts and she could feel it in his hands, in his lips, in the way he plunged up into her relentlessly. She could see he felt it too. It was like finding the perfect mate, like being completely owned by each other. Eve knew, even as the majority of her brain was swamped with sensation and pleasure, that they’d just crossed a line that couldn’t be uncrossed. Things were going to be different now no matter what happened.

“Evie.” Jim said, like a declaration to the world.

“Jim.” She entwined her fingers around his, nodding in agreement to some unspoken word.

His eyes rolled back and he tightened his grip so that he almost crushed her hands, but Evelyn just squeezed back and sped up. She could feel it coming like a stampeding bull, and she flung herself off the edge with a shout as Jim came, cursing and grabbing and rolling under her like a wave.

 

It took her forever to get her breath back, and when she did Eve realised she was still sitting on top of Jim as limp as a rag doll. She reluctantly pulled herself off and rolled flat onto the mattress, running a hand through her sweaty hair.

“Wow.”

“Wasn’t it just? Still, we should probably leave before Dmitri and Ian come to check on their master.” Jim stood wearily, reaching for his shirt.

“How can you even think of moving?” she huffed, dragging herself slowly towards the end of the bed.

“I don’t fancy getting caught with my pants down?” he raised a brow.

Eve took one look at the cynical, closed-off expression on his face and scowled. “Don’t do that.”

“What? I thought you liked my jokes.”

“You’re going to pretend this didn’t mean anything when we both know that’s not true.”

“It was sex, Miss Walsh – great sex, yes, but nothing more.”

“Bullshit. You think you can lie to me now? After that?”

Moriarty looked annoyed. “Oops. Looks like there _was_ some Molly still hanging around.”

She slapped him, loud but not hard, and he grabbed her wrist with a furious glare.

“Miss Walsh, I’m going to write that off as your overwrought emotions, but if you think-”

“Shut up, Jim. I thought you weren’t afraid, and here I find you’re just like everyone else.”

She grabbed her dress and started putting it on. Jim frowned.

“Afraid? Of what, sentiment? I think you are confusing afraid with immune.”

She shook out her hair with a hollow laugh. “Good try, Jimmy, but I know who you are now just as surely as you know me. When you decide you don’t want to hide from it, give me a call.”

She left the clutch and grabbed her shoes, storming out. Jim watched her go, feeling very vulnerable and very stupid for the first time in as long as he could remember. He shot a contemptuous look at the body in the bathroom.

“And you thought you could handle her? We’re both idiots.”

*****

Since she wasn’t talking to Jim and he apparently wasn’t ready to change that, Evelyn found herself with nothing to do. Money wasn’t an issue, since she’d been paid well for her research work, but she was incredibly bored in the house. After four days she reasoned she could take a quick stroll, maybe get some new books, and distract herself for a moment from the endless thinking about Jim. She took a cab to Oxford Street and lost herself in the crowds. It was so easy to blend in with the rest of the shoppers, so simple to pretend she wasn’t involved in something unhealthy that she didn’t understand with the foremost criminal in Europe. She was just another face here, with no history and no weird fucked-up life. She briefly considered going for lunch with some of the doctors from the centre, just for some normal company, but what would she have said? She couldn’t explain Jim to them. She could barely explain it to herself.

 

She wandered through the thoroughfare for two hours and only bought herself a new pair of black suede boots. Eve realised with a sigh that shopping was not an adequate distraction. She checked her phone for the hundredth time, even though she knew it was pathetic, old-Molly behaviour. _Still nothing_. She headed for the Tube, thinking maybe she’d go out somewhere for dinner rather than stay at home and be boring. She was barely inside the station when there was a voice behind her.

“Molly?”

Eve stiffened up on the stairs, almost tripping, but she kept her face forward and hurried on.

“Molly!”

She knew those tones, had been afraid this would happen eventually. _I should have gone to Rio_. There was running and then Sherlock was in front of her, grabbing her shoulders so she had to stop.

“Molly? Where have you been?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know who you’re talking about.” She insisted, shaking him off.

“What? Molly, please. You were reported missing a month ago. What happened?”

“I don’t know who this Molly is, but I need to get my train.” She tried to move past.

She was dressed so differently, and her hair so much darker, that for a moment Sherlock looked like he might believe her. But of course it was hopeless from the start.

“Molly, I tried to find you when they said you hadn’t been seen for a week. I used the best of my abilities and found nothing, no clue, no sign of you. I got Mycroft to search with his access to the CCTV and his agents, and still nothing. Then I found all record of Molly Hooper was starting to disappear, the files just deleted right out of the system like you never existed. You know what that says to me?”

 _Don’t say his name, Sherlock_.

“Jim Moriarty. He’s hiding you. Why?”

“Honestly, I don’t know this Molly person, or, or Jim whatever his name is.”

“The fact that you are not currently locked up somewhere implies you are not his prisoner. So what is it, Molly? You were so infatuated with him you’re switched sides? I’m surprised he’d take you.”

 

She was struck with an indiscriminate rage at that, at the scorn in Sherlock’s voice. She threw down her shopping and struck him in the chest.

“How dare you! For five years I helped you and helped you, even when I could have lost my job, even when I was in love with you and you treated me so hatefully! Well Jim helped me get free of all that. I told him I wanted a new life and a new identity and he arranged it for me. So you can just go back and leave me alone, because honestly I’m much happier without you around!”

Sherlock looked shell-shocked: when she grabbed her bag, he did nothing. He didn’t say anything until she tried to walk away.

“Molly, I’m sorry if you felt you needed to get away from me. I was not always as sensitive to your feelings as I should have been.”

She laughed mirthlessly. “It wasn’t just you I had to get away from, Sherlock. It was everything. It was me. And now I have, and I won’t go back. Just pretend you never saw me.”

She hurried to the train, certain he would follow but he didn’t. It was all Eve could do not to cry as they pulled out from the station, a tall thin figure in blue watching from the platform.

 

She was more determined than ever to go out after that. Evelyn picked one of her slinky long dresses, a creamy gold piece with off-the-shoulder sleeves that was very Grecian and made her feel like her figure was much nicer than reality. She was trying to decide where to go when her thoughts fell on the little French place she’d gone with Jim. _Don’t be stupid – that place is expensive and it will just upset you_. But it was a really nice restaurant and she was in need of a good meal to cheer her up. Eve did a search online but none of the reviews she read for anywhere else gripped her like the memory of that rabbit, and seeing Jim smile at her across the table. With a defeated sigh she went downstairs to get a cab.

*****

Jim was sitting at his desk in his shirt sleeves conducting a very terse video conference with a client in Uzbekistan when Sebastian knocked on the door.

“Boss?”

“Not a good time, Moran.”

The giant sniper flinched at Jim’s tone, but he pulled himself together.

“You need to see something.”

“I said not now, Moran!”

He ducked the flying pen holder and took a breath, praying this bad mood would blow over soon.

“It’s about Miss Walsh.”

“Oh?” Jim said, suddenly disinterested and monotone.

“I was reviewing the latest footage of her. He’s in it.”

Jim abruptly cut off his connection and waved a hand at Sebastian. “Show me.”

Moran wasn’t super eager to get within punching range but he crossed to the desk and handed Jim a memory stick. Moriarty plugged it in and opened the video file. It was footage from an underground station, the view of the stairs from the platform.

“Where is she?” he snapped.

Tentatively Sebastian reached forward and skipped the first few minutes. A small dark-haired figure with a green sweater and jeans was coming down the stairs with a largish shopping bag. A few steps behind her was the tall detective, and as Jim watched he sped up to catch her.

“Sherlock Holmes.” He hissed.

On the video Sherlock spun around in front of Evelyn, forcing her to stop. He partly obstructed the camera’s view, but Moriarty could see the distress on her face. At one point she dropped her bags and hit Holmes in the chest, and he almost snapped the arms off his desk chair. Sebastian eyed him warily.

“That’s it?” Jim spat through his teeth.

“That’s it boss. She gets on the train, he stays behind. I checked the later footage and he goes in the opposite direction.”

Jim stood and shrugged on his jacket, straightening the cuffs. “Sebastian? Call me a car.”

“She’s not home, boss.”

“Then where is she?”

 

Eve was trying to enjoy her scallops, really she was, but she kept thinking about Sherlock’s face on the platform. He’d looked sort of deflated and sad. _Good. Maybe he won’t be so horrid to people in the future_. But what was really bothering Eve was that she didn’t want to think about Sherlock at all; she’d changed her whole life to get away from the people like him who disregarded her and made her feel small. _Funny. You felt small when you first found out who Jim really was, and now he’s the one who transformed Molly into something more. Maybe he felt bad?_ But she knew Jim never, ever felt bad about the things he did. He and Evelyn had that in common.

She took another bite but even though she could taste that they were perfectly cooked, they weren’t doing anything for her. She pushed the plate aside.

“Not hungry?”

She looked up. “What are you doing here?”

Jim shrugged. “I like this place. You should know that. May I?”

“Fine.”

He sat and poured himself a drink from her bottle of red, sipping leisurely. “You should eat.”

“I’ve lost my appetite.” She said flatly.

“Is it contagious now? Did you get it from Sherlock?”

Her eyes narrowed. “How did you know I saw Sherlock?”

He raised a brow. “I know you as surely as you know me, remember? Plus I’ve seen you make that face before, and it was definitely Sherlock-related.”

“Are you following me or him?” she said wryly.

“Sometimes both.” He beamed.

“Great.”

His hand shot out and grabbed hers. She glanced up, wide-eyed, maybe more startled than she wanted to let on by the warmth of him.

“Did he make you feel guilty, Eve? For letting them worry? For disappearing?”

“No. I mean, he tried, but he was more interested in asking me about you.”

“About me?” Jim preened, “Clever boy. What did you say?”

“Nothing. What was I supposed to?”

Jim practically winced at the glare she shot him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t really come here to talk about him. I wanted to see how you were.”

“I’m fine. I had this wild, life-changing moment with a guy and then he tried to pull a runner. It’s weird cos I thought he was smart, but apparently not.”

Jim cleared his throat. “Yes. About that. Evie, I’m sure that you feel like the other night was something special-”

“Oh don’t Jim, just don’t. I’d rather not hear any more of your bullshit.”

She made to stand but he was still holding her arm. Evelyn gave him a pointed look but he held on.

“Please. Let me finish.”

 

Reluctantly she sat. Jim picked up her fork and started stabbing scallops and offering them to her.

“Fine. The other night was unusual. What do you want me to do about it? Ask you out? We’re not children, Evie. The world I move in is complicated.”

“So? I like it there.”

“I know. That’s what makes you so...enticing.” he licked the corner of his lips.

“Then what’s the problem? You afraid I’ll make you vulnerable? If you really thought about it you’d know I would never want that.”

Jim sighed. “I know. You and I...it’s like you said. The same under the skin.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box, pushing it over the table.

“What is it?” she asked worriedly.

“Nothing much, just a token to remind you of me.”

If anything that made her more concerned – it would not be too far-fetched to think Jim might give her body parts – but she opened the box anyway. It was a ring, a thin silver band engraved with an M and a W, joined so the lines intersected.

“Moriarty and Walsh. What do you think?”

Eve smiled. “I think it’s a perfect fit.”

*****

“Pass me that map of Lithuania, would you?”

Eve handed it over and went back to her simulation. Jim hummed impatiently and typed a note in his phone.

“The Borskas are trying to screw us over again.”

“Then we’ll correct them.” Evelyn smiled grimly.

Jim looked up and stopped, distracted by the sight of her in just his shirt. “Have I mentioned you look rather sexy in Westwood?”

“Ditto.” She stuck her tongue out.

The consulting criminal took the laptop off her and placed it on the bedside table. “Break time, Evie.”

She wrapped her arms around him. “You are a bad, bad man.”

“You love it.”

“I do.”


End file.
